Chapter Two

From "Finding Your Footing: Career Advice for the Modern Witch and Wizard" by Beatrix Adalbert

When applying for that perfect job to commence your adult career, there are a few important guidelines to keep in mind:

1. Put your best foot forward. Use high-quality parchment and non-smudging ink. Check your spelling and grammar carefully.

2. Be honest. An employer will be able to tell if you don't have the skills they need, and many employers, including the Ministry of Magic, may use Veritaserum to make sure.

3. Be positive. Nobody likes to work with a Negative Nellie.

4. Be prompt. Don't wait to send in your application or C.V.; do it right away. This makes you look like you're on top of things.

Following these four guidelines will help you get set on the path to your perfect career!

"Pardon me, sir, I have the mail from the postbox."

Snape glanced up at his secretary from where he sat behind his stately mahogany desk and beckoned her in with a wave of his hand. "Many responses, Miss Richards?"

Agnes Richards stepped into Snape's well-appointed office, her heels clicking on the dark hardwood floors. She was a sensible, middle-aged woman, dressed in sensible business robes, with her hair pulled back into a sensible knot at the nape of her neck. She was efficient and unflappable, which was why she'd been hired. She also possessed a wicked sense of humor and a tendency to be amused by his bellowing, which was why Snape had kept her on.

She stood in front of the desk and leafed through the small stack of envelopes. "Seven. I'd say the number's auspicious, but this one in the middle smells like the sender rubbed it with the scent glands of a musk ox," she said with a grimace, separating the putrid pink envelope from the rest. "Shall I just Incendio it and save you the hassle?"

"By all means, Miss Richards. I do know how much you enjoy setting fire to offensive post. I should hate to rob you of the pleasure," Snape drawled.

Agnes just shook her head and handed Snape the envelopes. "Remember, staff meeting in an hour. Don't get too distracted, fantasizing about the scads of money a competent arithmancer will bring in," she said, closing his office door behind her.

Snape scowled, picking up the first envelope from the pile. "I may as well not postpone the inevitable," he muttered to himself. "Let's see what lack-witted miscreants have applied for the job."

Twenty minutes later, Snape had a well-lined rubbish bin, a pile of ashes, a rather fetching paper sculpture of Buckingham Palace, and one envelope left.

The envelope's parchment was ivory and smooth with a nice weight, proper for business correspondence. The sender had not used a Dictoquill, but his or her own round, neat handwriting. Already an improvement over the previous five applications, and he hadn't even broken the seal...the lavender wax seal, stamped with the symbol of the International Congress of Arithmancers. Finally! The other applicants had lacked a Mastery, and he needed someone who knew what the hell they were doing. He had no use for someone who couldn't tell an equation from an expression.

He turned the envelope over again to study the handwriting. It looked tidy. Capable. Familiar. Wait, familiar? He looked closer, studying the hook of the H in Harmonious, the ending R in Professor. Recognition niggled in the back of his brain like a Snitch just out of reach. He reached for his letter opener and slid it under the seal, popping the envelope open. He drew out the papers quickly, shaking them open, looking for the signature.

Granger.

Fucking Granger!

The little hand-waving, know-it-all, leaving-him-for-dead pain in the arse had gone and got herself a fucking Mastery in Arithmancy. He'd wondered why she hadn't come through the office looking for her life-mate after Potter and Weasley had used the services, and now he had his answer. She'd obviously been busy.

He was tempted to just toss her packet into the bin, but curiosity won out. His eyes swept over the cover letter. Well-written, well-reasoned, well within her rights to ask for that amount of money (as much as he hated admitting such). He was impressed with her C.V. as well, Outstanding NEWTs in Arithmancy, Charms, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Potions, and Astronomy. A summer internship at Hogwarts with Septima Vector, apprentice and journeyman studies with Sophie Germain. If he remembered Vector's stories correctly, Germain was not easy to get on with, especially if you were female.

Blast and damn. He was going to have to have Granger in for an interview. He only hoped that she'd given up her incessant hand-waving habit.

"Miss Richards!" he bellowed through the closed office door.

Agnes opened the door and peeked in. "Yes, boss?"

"Find me anything you can on Hermione Granger. I want to know what she's been doing with every second of her spare time since the end of the war. Boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, divorces, affairs, what she's done on her summer vacations and where she shops for groceries. Any dirt you can find, I want it."

Agnes nodded. "What shall I do with this information once I've compiled it?"

"If she's clean, have her in to interview with Zabini. I want to know how serious she is about the job, or if she just applied on a whim. If there's a whiff of scandal..."

"Send the standard 'thanks, but no thanks' letter?"

"Merlin, no. Tell me. The girl spent six years of classes being a know-it-all pain in my arse. I deserve to know any dirty details," he said with a smirk, "and send the letter myself."

"Boss," said Agnes, "some day you're going to come to a very bad end."

"I know. I look forward to it."

Meanwhile, Hermione was enjoying the luxury of an unhurried breakfast. Kreacher had outdone himself with a varied spread laid out on the table in her bedroom. Sipping rich, black coffee in a plush chair with her feet up, a plate of pain au chocolat nearby, she was positive she deserved the relaxation after five years of getting up early to do the chores while Alain slept in. She wasn't sure if Madame Germain made a habit of sleeping with her male apprentices. All she knew is that it was fucking unfair, and she was going to enjoy having a house-elf for once. To hell with S.P.E.W., anyway. At least she knew her Mastery had come from her skill with calculations instead of her skill with cunnilingus. If she had any, of course.

She nursed a last cup of coffee and nibbled her third pastry...who was counting, really...while debating what to do with her first day of freedom in five years. She supposed she should be looking for a job, but that packet she'd sent off last night was surely enough to allow one day of skiving off. Hogwarts was still in session, so popping up to see Neville was out of the question. Going to visit Molly would only bring lamentation on her "still unmarried" state. Hermione was lost in contemplation of the frayed edge of her pajama top, running her fingers over the dangling threads, when Kreacher popped dolefully into her room.

"Missy Hermione is finishing her breakfast and Missy Hermione is going out."

Hermione eyed Kreacher. "I am?"

"Master Harry says Kreacher is to make sure Missy Hermione leaves the house and doesn't spend a year lost in the library, so Missy Hermione is going out. Maybe Missy Hermione should be buying new clothes?"

She glanced at her ratty, threadbare flannel pajamas and nodded. "Probably a good idea, Kreacher. By the way, how did you learn to make such good pastries?"

Kreacher's face took on a look of unholy glee. "Those pastries was Mistress Bellatrix's favorites."

Hermione resolved never to eat another pain au chocolat as long as she lived.

After showering and dressing (she really did need new clothes), she managed to raise Ginny through the Floo. Convincing her to go shopping didn't take much, and Ginny agreed to meet her at the Leaky in an hour.

Over lunch, Hermione grilled Ginny about W-Harmony and whether she thought Professor Harmonious had anything to do with the matchmaking company. It hadn't taken her long to put two and two together after thinking about Harry's luck with the matchmaking service and the application packet she had sent off the night before.

Ginny just stared at her. "You really have lived under a rock these past few years, haven't you? Yes, Professor Harmonious is who runs W-Harmony, but nobody ever sees him. Or her. Nobody knows if the Professor is male or female, and the way that W-Harmony matches people is a more closely-guarded secret than just about anything else in the Wizarding world!"

Hermione groaned. "You mean I just applied for a job with a dating service run by the Wizarding equivalent of Willy Wonka? I thought I'd heard the names in conjuction, but I wasn't sure."

"Oh, Wonka was a wizard. Well, sort of. Roald Dahl is a Squib, he based the character on Ambrosius Flume," Ginny blithely replied, stirring sugar into her tea. "Dahl made up the bit about him being an eccentric weirdo who kept pygmy slaves, though."

Hermione didn't dare comment on who the BFG may have been based on. Or why a Squib would write a book painting witches in such a horrible light. Then again, thinking of Mother Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, and other Dark witches she'd run across, perhaps it wasn't too far-flung.

"Never mind that, Ginny. I suppose I can see why a dating service would need an Arithmancer, but what was the "cross-culture services" bit about? You don't think this Harmonious character is going to try to take over the Muggle dating world too?"

Ginny shrugged. "Why not? There's probably money to be made, people to be helped, that sort of rubbish."

Hermione put her head down on the table and sighed. What had she got herself into?

A/N:

My apologies to Roald Dahl, Robert Heinlein, and Aaron Sorkin.

Prompt info:

I. Something Old

A. Oldies but Goodies

1. revisit a once popular challenge

2. Yenta Livery Company Challenge